


Drowning The Smiling Face Of A Dead Boy

by Winged_Beauty_16



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Sick Louis, cancer fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 20:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6298954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winged_Beauty_16/pseuds/Winged_Beauty_16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On his last day of freedom, Louis chooses to go to an abandoned beach complex. Harry doesn't question it. Instead, he takes a picture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drowning The Smiling Face Of A Dead Boy

Louis yanked Harry's hand forward, dragging Harry’s body behind him, as he ran up to the gate. He quickly halted making Harry jerk backwards. Harry steadied himself against an old shack, just to the right of the gate. It said security in faded letters; Harry couldn’t imagine why a place like this could ever need security. He looked over to Louis who was completely frozen, starring in awe at the front gate. The gate wasn’t anything special, just the opening to a fencing that looked mindlessly put together in front of tall pine trees. Harry attempted to figure out what was so important about a teetering, old, rust covered gate with the password lock dangling off by a wire; he couldn’t. Louis, on the other hand, looked at the gate like it was the stars, moon, and sun. 

Harry swore he heard Louis mutter home under his breath, the word coming out breathy. He wasn’t sure if Louis actually said anything, but when Harry turned to Louis the look of quiet contentment on his face was enough to realize the importance of this place. Louis’s usually alert features were calmed. His normally erratic blue eyes were stilled enough for Harry to see the thin circle of green around his irises. Louis’s I-know-something-you-don’t smirk was missing, in its place a charming half smile that portrayed his dimple and the crinkles by his eyes. It was kind of really beautiful. Harry would have leaned agent that security post, looking at Louis forever if he had the opportunity. Instead, he took a picture. 

While admiring him, Harry missed Louis typing in the gate password. Louis was now standing with his body sprawled against the door, which was now slightly opened, with his hair tangled in the gate’s rust. There was a goofy smile on his face. He looked ten times younger and 100 times less burdened. Harry took another picture. 

“C’mon slowpoke, I wanna see the ocean” Louis’s voice was cheery, but there was a bitter undertone. 

Harry chuckled to try and ease the tension; it did not work. Louis’s smile faded as he looked at him and Harry knew Louis knew exactly what Harry was thinking. Louis reached for Harry’s hand and squeezed tightly. 

 “Don’t think about it; here, here we forget about our worries” Louis’s voice was low and hushed against Harry’s ear, like he was telling Harry the meaning of life. The wind seemed to stop and the atmosphere got silent. Harry stared at Louis. 

Laughing his way out of the serious moment, Louis twirled himself on Harry’s finger and sprinted forward down the chipping cement path. Harry ran after him, letting himself get lost in the laughter, momentarily forgetting the reason they came here. He stopped for a second, and took a picture of Louis running in front of him. 

As they ran, Louis would point to some of the small, worn out cottages telling Harry the memories behind each misplaced shingle or the graffitied lawn furniture. Occasionally, he would point to a random set of space retelling a story, eyes twinkling in remembrance. Never once did he falter, never once did he show regret or bitterness towards the world. Harry admired him for that. 

Occasionally, Harry would stop and take a picture. The pictures were all of Louis. If Louis noticed, he never said anything.

The more they explored the small, slightly run down block, the more Harry could see why Louis loved this place so much. He could imagine a small Louis running through the grounds. He could see Louis’s little, cherub face, poking out from behind his mother’s dress, saying hello to his friends for the first time since last summer. Harry could see an older version running away from somebody, fringe flying into his eyes, shorts falling down. Harry laughs as he imagines a preteen Louis arguing with his dad-It’s only a mile walk! We will stay in a group, I promise- and then his dad shaking his head, but watching fondly as Louis ran off to join his friends. Harry could see a tired, sun burnt Louis sitting on the cement ledge, watching the fireworks with careful eyes taking in every second of their beauty. Harry could see Louis everywhere, and he doesn’t know whether it’s good or bad. 

 They deliberately come to a stop, both of us ignoring Louis’s short, unsteady breaths and flushed face. 

“C’mon, there’s one last place I need to show you” Louis’s voice was shaky and when he grabs Harry’s hand, it’s for support, not to drag him along. Harry wants to deny, say it’s not safe, but he knew Louis and he knew safety wasn’t a concern. It hadn’t been for a long time.

Instead, Harry took a picture of their intwined hands and started to walk. They walked slowly, Loui’s deep breathing filling up the space. 

When they finally reach the deck, Harry notices it’s in even worse shape than the gate. The wood section was decaying, it looked like any weight would force the beams to cave. The cement part, once high and mighty, had missing pieces, a result of years of storms and no proper maintenance. What little of the deck that was remaining, basked in in their former glory. The steps creak even under Louis’s fragile body; Harry gives them a concerned look and knows the deck will not be able to hold him. Louis knows too, and climbs down. He motions for Harry to follow him, Harry does. He always will.

They go around the big blue house in the center and walk to another set of steps. The steps were in better condition than the others, but still looked awful. Louis went up first and then lightly sprinted across the deck. He lands in a heap on the sand, breathing harder than before. Harry takes another picture. 

 

When they for to the sand, Louis shivered and Harry knew it was not from the damp graininess their feet had sunken into. The tide is high and the sky overcast; a few seagulls harmonize in the background. The scene reflects Harry’s mood, but not Louis’s. He is smiling as bright as ever and Harry knew nothing could remove his smile. Louis was in his element. The wind whips his hair into his face; he grumbles slightly and shrugs out of his wig. Harry takes another picture.

 “I wish I could’ve done that as a kid.” Louis says to lighten the mood, but they both knew he didn't. They both knew he didn’t want to do it now.

Gracefully, Louis walked over to the ocean, stopping, just before the gentle waves hit his toes. He looks like an angel there, with his arms spread out like wings and the wind waving around him, pushing his clothes around. Harry couldn’t see his face, but he know Louis’s eyes are closed, filling his soul up with the familiar, salty smell. Harry watched as Louis walked into the water, not even flinching at the icy December temperature. At times like this, Harry wondered if he was still alive. Harry took another picture, capturing the wind, the cold, and Louis’s near lifeless body. 

 “Harry, come in.” Louis pauses and twirls, letting the water splash up around him. “It’s so much fun!”

It was the cheeriness in his voice that made Harry do it. It’s the light in Louis’s eyes as he babbles about all his amazing summers here, that make Harry brave the cold. Harry tried not to shiver, because sometimes Harry felt like his life offends Louis.

Louis would never say it, but Harry knew he was jealous; jealous of having a future. Ever since Louis was old enough to dream, there was a deadline. Whenever they were out together, Louis would point at random people and envision their fairy tale, from start to finish. Harry would always take a picture of Louis, with his eyes bright and mouth open mid story. That is how Harry wanted to remember him. 

Harry wished he could give Louis the future. Harry would give him the past, present and future if he could. He thought that was why this place was so special for Louis. It was a mystical land, full of childhood and joy that had no deadline. Harry could have loved this place too. 

\--------------

Ten days after their little escape to paradise, it finally happened. Harry wasn't there to see it, to watch as his dainty hands clenched and unclenched for the last time, as his small nose crinkled letting out his last breath, and as his gorgeous blue eyes dimmed. Harry did not get a picture. He knew what he was feeling was not uncommon. It was the feeling of a lost battle. This time, it wasn't country vs. country; it was a strong, beautiful, lively boy vs. cancer.

 Harry spend the weeks after Louis’s death crying in the arms of Louis’s younger sisters, trying to comfort them admit his own sorrow. He called up old friends, telling them, and comforting their tears, taking in pity from those he had never talked to before. He stared blankly at a wall, wondering how this could have happened. But to Harry, the absolute worst was when he had to get rid of the small, dainty silver ring with a heart shaped blue stone upon it. He gives it to a man, who was on his first day with a gorgeous blonde girl. Harry told him to love her like he loved his Louis. The man didn't understand, but it didn't matter, Louis would. 

Harry tried to take a picture, to capture the moment like he had been doing for months, but he couldn’t. His finger would not press the button, the camera would not focus. 

Three months after Louis’s death, the funeral happened.  It was at the beach. Harry went, clad in suit and tie and sat in the front row watching as many people he had never met give speeches on what an amazing, influential boy Louis was and how he changed their lives.  He don’t care. 

The last speech was from a girl who went up to the microphone already in tears. She came up in a faded bikini, despite the chilly March weather. She stood up in front of the crowd and did not say how much she missed Louis, or how Louis changed her life. Instead she simply retold stories from her and Louis’s childhood. She ended her speech with their promises of bathing suit attire at each other’s funerals. The girl laughed bitterly at how funny they thought it would be, to see their best friend all old and wrinkly, in a child’s swim suit. No one laughed along.  
Lastly, Louis’s mother surrounded by his four little sisters, who all looked dazzling in deep purple dresses, poured the ashes into the very same water Louis twirled and laughed in three months earlier.

Harry left before the closing statement.

\--------------

Harry never went back to the beach houses after the funeral. They had no real significance to him, so he saw no point in punishing himself with bittersweet memories.  Harry had no clue why he showed up there, 34 years later, at the tender age of 55 when Charlotte, Louis’s eldest younger sister, called in tears saying the complex was being demolished. Harry didn’t know why he flew out, broke into a foreclosured complex, and walked across dangerous concrete, just to sit on a crumbling wall. But Harry did.

He sat there and imagined the boy he loved. He imagined the last day before his boyfriend was taken into a permeant hospital residences. He imagined the funeral where he left early, before he could ever say goodbye.  
Harry imagined the young couple, who he gave his ring too. He imagined the two twenty year old twins, who would never know their older brother. He imagined the sisters, who tried to be as much like their older brother as possible. He imagined a mother, who couldn’t look at her son without tearing up, because he looks so much like a dead boy. 

Harry imagined a lot of things. The cool breeze made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t in years. Slowly, he got up and walked towards the ocean. Harry stood, just far enough away where the waves couldn’t touch him, and reached into his pocket.  
He pulled out a stack of pictures. Without a word, he dropped them all into the ocean. The pictures floated away. The pictures were the last physical object Harry had remaining of the boy he loved. He watched as the pictures slowly sunk into the tide, drowning the smiling face of a dead boy.  
As Harry walked out, past the foreclosure sign haphazardly stuck to the security shack, he swore he heard a soft, familiar voice complaining how unfair the foreclosure was, how Harry should do something, and how the city was taking his life away. In a way, Harry thought, they were.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @myshipsaregaysicannotcontain


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